


Atomic Mass

by chiixil_84



Series: Pistol Packin' Mama [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 4
Genre: BoS (Fallout), Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), Diamond City, Established Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Fallout, Fallout 4 - Freeform, Female Protagonist, Female Relationships, Gen, Gunners, Male-Female Friendship, Minutemen, Multi, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Platonic Relationships, Raiders, Relationship(s), Settlement, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Vault 111
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2020-12-17 11:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21053852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiixil_84/pseuds/chiixil_84
Summary: Waking up in 2282, the sole survivor of Vault 111 is scared, alone, and disoriented. She spends 5 years focusing on turning her once-beautiful community of Sanctuary Hills into a place where she can survive, and find some stability with something more tangible than the non-truths of Vault Tec.Camilla tells Codsworth, "What could go wrong?"Well, everything from there on goes incredibly, horribly wrong for the woman out of time.[Tags will change as concepts, characters, and events happen in the story.]





	1. That's Life

Swiping the back of her hand across her sweaty forehead, Camilla tilted her gaze up from her crops to look across the river. All of the trees from the edge of the water onward had colors blossoming like wildfire as far as the eye could see, setting the landscape ablaze in the afternoon sunlight. Her Pipboy played lazy tunes in the background, its soft warbling carrying across Sanctuary Hills and melting the moment into something so familiar.

It looked normal, but only if she didn’t scrutinize it too closely.

She returned her focus to the garden, dusty gloves long-forgotten on the ground with a basket full of vegetables just out of her reach. Camilla couldn’t remember how many hours she’d spent on refurbishing old yards and communal spaces into something capable of growing crops, but was more than thankful as she reaped the benefits of that work now.

The seasons had begun to change early this year, sending her from the height of summer to the cool beginnings of autumn, and, with it, a solid harvest before it got too cold to grow anything beyond hubflower bushes. Codsworth had really come through for her this year, having negotiated with the automatons at Graygarden into giving her some of their higher-quality seeds in exchange for Camilla running some preventative extermination on a nearby molerat infestation.

Of course, she hadn’t completed the job alone: her loyal mutt stayed by her side throughout the entire process, even going out of his way to haul most of the bodies to Graygarden’s dilapidated kitchen once the job had been completed. The dog’s work saved Camilla nearly an hour of work to gather up all of the molerats to skin and prepare their meat for the travel back to Sanctuary. (While she worked, the woman couldn’t help but throw some of the tendons to her companion with hearty ear scratches and a few ‘_what a good boy you are_’ coos, promising a sudsy, warm bath when they got home for Max’s help.)

Though this had been the best year she’d had above ground yet, Camilla knew the peace was only temporary. Eventually, she’d have to do more to protect her island and, ultimately, the vault beneath her feet than by setting up a few turrets, traps, and walls.

Sure, the worst threat she’d faced so far was the occasional pack of migrating super mutants, but she’d been through Boston enough times over the last few years to know even a heavily fortified community like Diamond City was barely holding on as new factions made their foothold in the Commonwealth. With the unknown Brotherhood of Steel stationing themselves in the harbor, the South was claimed by radiation and rogue mercenaries, while unorganized raiders situated themselves in holes in the wall that they could ride out a radstorm (or a particularly bad high) in.

That left the North mostly untouched, and _Camilla’s _part of it held plenty of room and supplies for any group to expand exponentially. It was only a matter of time at this point, and she would surely be outgunned and outnumbered.

She could only piece together so many dilapidated robots to do the patrolling and basics to guard her home, but, when it came down to it, they could only do as they were ordered. There was very little room for loyalty to a cause in that regard, and plenty of room for failure.

Hoisting herself to her feet, hauling the basket up to loosely settle it on her hip, Camilla shuffled through her field and entered a nearby old, patched-together building. It was the only building with a solid foundation on this side of the block, across the street from her own home and just on the crest of the hill overlooking the garden. It had taken some work, but she and Codsworth had renovated this home into an impressive cafeteria that sat independently of the rest of Sanctuary’s power grid.

It was also the only building with a firepit built into the center of its furnishings.

Since her first year out of cryostasis left her with little time or understanding of the world to prepare herself for winter, Camilla had taken Codsworth back into the Vault to wait out that first winter. They really only emerged to gather a few supplies, but otherwise, 111 held everything they needed.

When spring rolled around the next year, Camilla had found Max half-alive and stuck in a hole in the river’s thawing ice, jumping in to save the dog and hauling it back to the Vault with hardly a moment to spare. Codsworth had been the monitoring orderly during those few tense days after Max was found, but it was then that the woman decided a safe, warm building was needed.

She couldn’t hide away in the Vault for every problem, nor would she always make it inside before a disaster struck.

By far, it was the best decision she’d made so far: a centralized unit above ground left her with a place to fall back to for reasons ranging from radstorms to an ambush, and, since it held its own power source and was reinforced with the plating from the long-forgotten tanks still sitting on the street outside, she could potentially sit in here for a week, unhindered by weapons most super mutants and raiders possessed. (Unless, by some unlucky chance, they had an assaultron at their disposal.)

Inside the dimly-lit cafeteria, Codsworth hovered by the sink, still rinsing off and identifying her prior haul. He was humming to the song now playing on her Pipboy, working in time to the music. Max laid on his bed around the corner from where the butler hovered, eyes closed but ears flicking as the dog heard her come in.

She placed the basket on the counter, careful to stay out of the swing of Codsworth’s arms. “Hey, Cods.”

“Afternoon, ma’am,” the butler replied, one of his optics swiveling to her in acknowledgment. Its lens constricted for a moment before refocusing on his work. “How is the harvest coming along this year?”

Smiling widely, she gently rapped her fingers on the counter, humming as if thinking up a reply. Even though she knew the robot knew the answer to that question, she’d indulge his question anyway. “Amazing, and it’s all thanks to you.” Codsworth scoffed, causing Max to lift his head up at the noise. Camilla continued, insisting, “Really, Codsworth. The deal you made with Graygarden made all the difference in the world. What’re the numbers for what I’ve already pulled up, again?” She leaned against the counter nonchalantly, eyebrows raised as she watched her companion expectantly.

Sniffling slightly, hoisting the newly washed vegetables from the sink to a cutting board on the opposite counter, he sounded offended despite easily rambling off, “One hundred and three pounds of produce for the spring harvest, and one hundred and twelve pounds for the current one.” Nodding sagely, she gave the robot a wide, knowing grin. His optics swiveled on their stalks to look at her, three lenses constricted to near pinholes as he groaned. “Don’t give me that look,” he grumbled, his entire body rotating once as if irritated before releasing his utility knife attachment and using it to chop.

“What can I say, Cods?” Camilla replied with a shrug, the grin still on her face. “We’re producing almost _double _than what we were last year, and that’s just with better quality seeds.” She went around the counter and squatted down to Max’s level, giving the dog a hearty scratch on his chin as she said, “And that's not mentioning your phenomenal canning practices. We’ll have more than enough to put away for the coming year, _and _can make a major profit if we sell the rest to Diamond City.”

With a sigh, Codsworth said, “They did like my jams.” Camilla hummed in agreement, using her other hand to give the now-wiggling dog a belly rub.

“They _loved _your jams.” Pausing for a moment, Camilla said, looking up at Codsworth from over the edge of the counter, “Imagine what we could do with a regular trade agreement?”

He hesitated in his chopping for a full second, as if mulling over her words. “Well, _I’m _certainly not making the trip on my own,” he huffed eventually, the knife coming down a little harder now.

Smiling more to herself than anyone else, she gave the dog a gentle pat on the head before standing up. Hope swelled in her chest as she went to the firepit and used a poker to play with the low-burning coals, trying to cover up the excitement blooming on her face. Codsworth knew more about the fluctuating faction climate in the Commonwealth than she did, and had previously advised against her making _any _relationship, good or bad, with anyone in this new world. Maybe there was an upswing in the current political stances of their wasteland that gave her companion a reason to relax that prior policy?

“Guess I’ll go call Carla to give us a hand, then?” she said, another groan grinding out of the butler at the name. “What?” Camilla asked, looking over her shoulder at him. She didn’t really know if he had the ability to have a migraine, but he was certainly acting as if he was having one now: his lenses clicked as they adjusted rapidly, his arms flying up to the stalks as if rubbing away a physical ache.

“Out of all of the traders in this area, you’re choosing _her_, mum?”

Offering him another shrug, she went back to the fire, some of the coals popping as they were moved. “Well, _yeah_. Who else would I choose? It’s not as if the Minutemen exist anymore to keep the streets safe. Besides, she’s got muscle and sway when it comes to the low-lifes between here and Boston.”

“Unfortunately,” came a sigh from the butler, his words just barely louder than his engine. “Perhaps Trudy would be able to assist you?” he mused eventually, his words warbling. “Or even that odd son of hers. It might do him some good to leave that old diner.”

Shaking her head, the woman replied, “Trudy’s been trying hard to keep him off drugs, and I can’t exactly watch him _and _protect the caravan from any threats.”

“Then the Abernathys?”

Camilla hummed, thinking over the idea. “It could work, if their own harvest is done for the year.” She returned the poker to its holster and just watched the fire pop, her mouth in a tight frown. “They’ve been having super mutant issues, though. Even _with _their turrets we set up for them in the spring.”

“Angry brutes, the lot of them,” Codsworth tutted from the kitchen, huffing angrily as he returned to his work. “Moving around with hardly a thought to people’s lives. How rude!”

Camilla couldn’t find the energy to reply; she’d taken down her fair share of mutants, sure, but knew that they were once human. She didn’t find pleasure in killing people who’d essentially lost their humanity to something they couldn’t control.

Out of the literal handful of people she knew, there was really no one else she could call on for a favor like this. The world had changed so much since the bombs went off, and, even with Codsworth living through it lucidly enough to be able to give her a rundown of the events after the fact, she still felt like a fish out of water 5 years later. (Or, rather, 210 years later, by Codsworth’s estimation.)

“You certainly can’t go off on your own, mum,” the robot called out, pulling her from her thoughts. A moment passed, and then Codsworth stated, “What about our long-term renter?”

At the thought of seeing the ex-Vault Tec representative decked out in leather armor and wielding a rifle, walking all the way down to Boston with her to guard the caravan, Camilla openly laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, Cods,” she managed between her bouts of laughter, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “Richard’s a great guy, just – not the luckiest shot.”

(From somewhere outside the building, she could’ve sworn she heard a faint, ‘_I heart that_,’ amidst the noise of Sanctuary Hills.)

“If you won’t let me call Carla, I won’t have much of a choice.” She didn’t add, _I’ll have to go alone, and I won’t be able to promise a safe journey. _Her butler worried too much already; she didn’t want to pile more on.

With a sigh, the butler relented. “Be safe, then, mum.”

“Of course, Codsworth. What could go wrong?”


	2. Long Way Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camilla gets the help of Trashcan Carla, and they head out to Diamond City with their haul.

When the merchant strolled past Sanctuary’s gates, it was with the attitude as if she owned the place, slowly yet steadily making her way through the old suburb’s curving road towards Camilla’s fortified cafeteria. Watching the woman as she approached, Camilla couldn’t remember the last time she’d welcomed anyone – let alone twenty guards and nearly as many brahmin – through her gates. It’d always just been Carla, though, even then, she never cut back on the dramatics with her entrances. 

On occasion, the Abernathy’s and those at the diner were welcome to her small island, but even they only stayed due to dire situations that left their own little worlds unsafe. 

No; this was a new level of theatrics. Camilla wondered what was on the merchant’s mind if she was traveling this heavily.

Carla’s caravan stayed a few dozen paces behind her, their brahmin staying on the broken streets and away from the fields as the workers situated their carts and packs to make room for Sanctuary’s cargo. They looked both professional and weary, but moved at a pace that Camilla remembered all too well from her own _career _before the bombs dropped. 

Even if _she _didn’t know them, Carla clearly trusted them. So, she would, too. 

Stepping outside to meet her friend in the early morning sunshine, Camilla embraced the merchant with open arms. The other woman smelled faintly of gunpowder and rich tobacco with a little tang of salt, mimicking the smell of Camilla’s grandfather’s old cigar box; the merchant’s leather jacket was warm to the touch and equally as comforting, further reminding the woman out of time of something just out of her reach but yet so familiar. 

She hoped that walking down memory lane wouldn’t be a staple throughout their journey to Diamond City; she had enough to deal with in the present as-is. 

Pulling out of the embrace, Carla stepped back and stuffed her hands into her crossbody bag, silently retrieving a package that could’ve been a shoebox at one point, but its cardboard was worn so thin the threat of it collapsing in on itself was a real risk. Eyebrows raised as she took the extended gift, Camilla asked, “I didn’t think you were the type to offer housewarming gifts, Carla.” 

With a huff and a shrug, the older woman took a cigarette out of her jacket’s breast pocket and lit it before saying, “An’ leave mah favorite vaultie high’n dry? What kinda girl d’ya think Ah am?” 

Smiling widely, Camilla carefully took the top off of the old box. Inside sat what she could only imagine was _dozens_ of little pouches – some paper, others leather, most of them some kind of linen – that had various scripts written or stitched into their outer layer. Just by giving the box a little shake, she could immediately tell these were seeds. She didn’t know where they were all from, or what to do with them, but it was beyond anything she’d certainly get at the diner – Hell, she’d wager that Diamond City would never have access to seeds like this, not unless Carla was feeling generous. 

The shock must have been clear on her face, since Carla eventually chirped, “Didn’t know if ya actually got through t’tha GA’s out at Graygarden, but Ah thought Ah’d help out a bit.” 

Meeting her eyes, Camilla managed, “I don’t know what to say.” 

With a wolfish smile, the merchant replied, flicking the ash off of her cigarette nonchalantly, “Yer better at this ‘etiquette’ stuff than Ah am.” 

Too overwhelmed (and far too humbled) to shoot back a witty reply, that seemed to sober her up. She straightened her posture and tilted her head slightly, replying, “Thank you, Carla. This – God, _this _is beyond anything I could’ve ever asked for in a million years.” 

“Tha’s be’cus yer mah favorite,” Carla repeated in a rumbly voice, using her free hand to pat Camilla’s shoulder firmly. It was as if the merchant was telling her the sky was blue, she was so determined of her stance on this. It sent a wave of relief down her spine. 

Offering her another sincere thank you, the woman out of time continued, already turning away to head back into the cafeteria, “Lemme give this to Codsworth, then we can start packing up. He’d just _die _over this.” 

“Speakin’ of,” Carla interjected, shoving her hand back into the bag. Stopping in her tracks, Camilla watched as the merchant took out another, yet smaller, object from the old bag, offering it to the vault dweller with a pointed look. “Ah starred the ones them farmers seemed real-keen on emphasizin’ as bein' _delicious_.” 

Carefully, Camilla took it with her free hand, working her thumb across the cover of the second gift – a soft leather book. It was probably no bigger than the contact book that she would’ve had two centuries ago, the word _journal _etched into the cover with some of its gold paint still visible despite its faded appearance. She could easily imagine what this book looked like when it was newly made, having seen so many lining the shelves back in the day. 

_ Damn these passive memories, _she wanted to groan. Instead, she managed to say, “Thank you, Carla.” 

With a hum, the merchant watched Camilla from behind the smoke of her cigarette, slowly puffing on it as the woman out of time flipped through the book. The pages were filled top-to-bottom with information about the seeds, down to how many milliliters of water and minutes of sunlight was needed for healthy growth (overkill, the vault dweller thought, until she saw little annotations on where these seeds grew best in what was left of this country). Deeper into the book still, there were recipes calling for the previously listed crops along with some off-brand colas she vaguely remembered from her childhood. 

“The perfect cookbook for the new world,” Camilla said, finally reaching the end of the book. She felt like she was floating; this all didn’t seem real. 

Offering her another grin, the merchant simply said, “Lemme see the butler’s reaction. Ah wanna see’m blow a fuckin’ _gasket_.” 

Though he hadn’t, Codsworth did burst into tears at the gifts; he took his time to ask Carla every question under the sun about the seeds, and she took her time to answer every one of his questions. Camilla took this as an opportunity to help the caravan workers load up Sanctuary’s cargo. By the time they were done, the merchant was leaving the cafeteria with a new cigarette in the corner of her mouth, a lazy smile curving around it. “Took ya long enough,” Camilla joked. 

“He’s a sweetheart,” the older woman crooned. “Maybe Ah’ll haf’ta come ’round more often t’ see’m.” 

Nodding, Camilla replied, “I know _I’d _enjoy seeing your face more often. It’d give us some _character_ around here.” 

“What, th’ ’bots aren’t enough for ya?” she shot back, waggling her eyebrows. Stifling a laugh, the woman out of time simply gave Carla a shrug as a response. The older woman’s eyes shifted to somewhere behind Camilla, her expression tightening as if reading something. “They say we’re ready,” she said after a moment, her eyes returning to Camilla’s. The weariness had returned, but the laughter was still clear in the woman’s gaze. 

“Yeah, we just put the last of my shipment together before you walked out.” 

Carla huffed, and raised her voice as she yelled, “Losin’ daylight! Le’s getta move on. Ah’m not payin’ ya t’ _lollygag__!_” 

[…]

Nearly an hour into their trek, Max wandered into the party without fanfare, acting as though he’d been there the whole time. It comforted Camilla knowing that he was nearby – mostly since this dog had saved her from _more _than a few slumbering monsters on her own journeys throughout the Commonwealth – and left her with yet another sense of familiarity. She hadn’t trained with a dog for her Old World job, but worked beside those that did; their bond between man and beast always left her awestruck, especially as they worked nearly as one entity rather than two. This dog seemed to react similarly to her as those K9-units did with one another, but, as far as she could tell, Max didn’t have any discernable tags or chips to alert her to a prior owner or training. 

Not like knowing if he had an owner would’ve made her feel any better, especially with how she’d found him in the first place. 

Throughout the trip, the dog would wander in and out of sight, sometimes chasing butterflies and other times with his head down low and body rigid – and in those moments, Camilla only relaxed when the dog would return, bouncing along with the caravan as if nothing had happened in the first place. 

It gave her a peace of mind to know that whenever the dog stepped off the path, he’d always find her again. 

She wondered if that was what it was like for Carla – traveling across this ruined country as something she wandered off to do, yet somehow always managing to come back to the Commonwealth as if she hadn’t left in the first place. If she were being honest with herself, Camilla found herself a little jealous of that lifestyle. The vault dweller knew that if anyone else had woken up instead of her, they wouldn’t have hesitated in following in Carla’s wanderer footsteps, leaving the rest of the vault to their deep slumber. 

Sure, Camilla had left the vault’s inhabitants in their cryostasis, but she was working on making Sanctuary someplace _safe _for them to come out to. It’d make a Hell of a difference for those who’d seen the nuke go off in the distance, and only barely make it below ground before it swept over the surface... and, ultimately, make the world a much more forgiving place from what she’d experienced five years ago. 

Hell, she might even be able to find a qualified doctor willing to stay in Sanctuary Hills to help the vault dwellers work through their traumas, if she would only be so lucky. 

“Ye look like yer thinkin’ real hard,” Carla murmured off to Camilla’s side. 

The vault dweller didn’t look at the merchant, instead offering her a simple, “What can I say? You can only listen to the radio’s limited run a few dozen times before you start to go crazy.” 

Carla hummed, but didn’t say anything else. Camilla knew she’d seen her deflection for what it was – just utter_ bullshit _– but was thankful the other woman didn’t press for details. 

She felt awful and tingly, and like her entire body was being sucked into a deep, black hole; Camilla could feel a wave of anger she hadn’t realized had been boiling settle just under her skin, and feared that if she said anything that her words would come out hot and snappy. If she could hide, she’d shut herself away and refuse to come out until this feeling went away. 

Walking down memory lane had been doing this to her lately, and she figured Vault 111’s denizens wouldn’t be the only ones to benefit from a willing therapist. 

No one seemed to want to bother Camilla after the merchant’s attempt at a conversation, leaving her alone until the edges of Boston. On this final stretch of the trip, Carla’s chain-smoking became a heavier feature to the older woman, a new cigarette being lit before the other one had even reached the filter; her caravan seemed to be just as on-edge as their boss. 

She hadn’t been down to Diamond City in quite a while – longer than Carla’s last trip, to be certain – and she questioned aloud why they were all so tense. 

“Super mutants,” the merchant replied, her voice so quiet the vault dweller questioned whether she’d heard anything come out of Carla’s mouth at all. 

“The Abernathy’s told me they’ve been quiet here lately,” Camilla offered. “Restless the further up North you go, but Boston seems to have either cleared them all out or they’re readying for winter.” Carla finally looked at her, a strange look on the woman’s face as she listened. 

“It’s too early fer snow,” she immediately retorted. 

Nodding quickly, waving her free hand about, the woman out of time replied, “The seasons have been coming particularly early this year; I wouldn’t be surprised if we got a cold snap that leads to snow in October. 

“Or,” she added, as an afterthought, chancing a glance at her Pipboy, “maybe it’s got something to do with those soldiers coming up from the South.” 

From the corner of her eye, she could see a shadow pass over the merchant’s face, but when Camilla turned to get a better look, Carla’s ever-present aloof expression was there instead. 

Trashcan Carla changed the subject with the exchange of her cigarettes, pressing on about the “stupid Legion’s customs agreements” and how she had to have her caravan searched top-to-bottom to make sure no illegal goods left the Mojave. (Of course, she still smuggled out her usual packages – daturana and punga being her favorites to always carry out of the desert – but it was more of a “how could I _not?_” situation rather than a power trip.) She gushed out loud about stocking up the inventories of Diamond City’s medical and science centers, and that anything left over would be going to the highest bidder. 

The woman out of time put a pin in Carla’s reaction, promising herself to bring it up later. Even if she imagined the merchant’s resolve breaking long enough to show a real seedy emotion, Camilla should be more than just _worried_. She hadn’t met one of these southern soldiers – _yet _– but figured if they were anything like the Gunners, she wouldn’t get along with them. 

Their name certainly gave her a moment to pause: _the Brotherhood of Steel. _

Beyond that, Camilla felt like she was, yet again, left in the dark about something that was something that most certainly should’ve been on her radar. 

She’d have to ask Piper when she got into town; the young reporter would _never _stop talking if it meant giving Camilla some new information. 

[…]

She followed her right up to the door of her home, standing at the threshold as the younger woman fought with her shaking hands to get her keys out of her pocket. Piper’s back was to her, but the incessant shaking of her head gave the woman out of time some glances at the tight-lipped expression the reporter had on her face. So, she pressed.

“What do you mean, _no?_” Camilla hissed exasperatedly, trying to get a solid answer from the younger woman.

“No means _no, _Blue,” the woman said sternly. “Just because you're new doesn’t mean I’m your go-to for something like this!” 

With a bitter laugh, her voice dropped low as she said, “You’ll expressly give me information about the _Institute – _something that wasn’t in my world before, yet you answered all of my questions about them, despite the direct danger they hold in the Commonwealth – but the moment I ask you about some strange soldiers coming up from another state, you’re suddenly tight-lipped?” 

Piper got the keys situated into the doorknob and gave it a harsh toss, the door’s hinges screeching achingly at the movement. She stood in the doorway, finally meeting Camilla’s eyes for the first time since she asked that damned question, and she looked so _small_. Camilla could finally see just how young this woman really was, and it broke her heart into a million pieces knowing just what Hell she’d been through as a kid in this wasteland, let alone a guardian to another smaller being. 

It almost made the woman out of time regret coming to Piper in the first place. _If Piper’s scared,_ Camilla thought, chewing the inside of her lip,_ it totally confirms my suspicions about Carla. _

“Look,” the reporter sighed, ink stains from yesterday’s print on her chin and bags under her eyes just as purple. “The Gunners have nothing on these guys. They’re way more powerful and – and put together better than the Gunners could _ever _dream to be.” Her eyes flickered away, then back to Camilla. 

“Then what are they?” she said, her voice still low. 

Shaking her head slowly, Piper started to close the door. Through the crack, the younger woman said, “I’m not scared of the Institute because they’re _random_; it’s just a pattern I haven’t figured out yet. They’re surgical, not _merciless._” Hesitating, she kept the door open just enough for the woman to meet a single hazel eye staring back out at her. “These guys you’re asking me about?” She shook her head again, the bleary orb disappearing for a moment as she did so. “I’d say they were more like super mutants with the way they interact with us _civilians_.” 

And then the door snapped shut, followed by a subsequent_ click _from each bolt on the Wright’s door echoing almost like a heavy, _final_, sentence to their conversation. 

It left her feeling breathless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally decided to post this chapter. I wanted to do something more -- something longer -- but I decided this was enough for what I wanted. Besides, I just needed a change of scenery.
> 
> I just recently started another game of Fallout 4, and I realized how BADLY I missed it. I just hope I continue to do this story justice after all this time.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> Reworked this about ten times from when I first started playing Fallout 4 in 2015. I still have my original notes from when I wrote out about 30-something chapters lol. I finally decided it was time to add my own blurb back into the mix.
> 
> Camilla is still a developing character for this story, but many things haven't changed from when I first made her character in my first playthrough 4 years ago. (One of the newest things is that she calls Dogmeat 'Max,' partially since I called my first stuffed animal that and for her to pay homage to Max the Bionic Dog from The Bionic Woman, kinda like calling a dog 'Old Yeller' or 'Lassie.' She won't start calling Max by his real name until she meets the Minutemen.)
> 
> Things are gonna be a rollercoaster as they go along, so "happier"/more stable times for Camilla will go slow, while more violent/battle-ridden chapters are going to go fast. I don't want her to stew on those particularly bad situations, but she WILL focus on others. It's just a matter of I really suck at battle scenes, and Fallout 4 kinda throws you into things the moment you step out of the stasis pod. Sooooo... lol.
> 
> Thank you for your support! As always, thanks to DangerMom for your ideas over the years and for your constant support <3


End file.
